Father's Day

AG

Sunday is father's day and I find it fitting to write about endearing moments with my father. Summer vacation was an anticipated period of my childhood where my days were spent with neighborhood playmates or in the barrio where my relatives lived.

There were times when my dad would have business to accomplish at the provincial capitol in Lingayen and I sometimes tagged along.

Our day would start early, I would put on my good attire of short pants and Marcelo brand rubber shoes. My dad and I would go to the town center to catch the red Pantranco bus bound for Lingayen. The 17 kilometer trip seemed forever with the bus picking up passengers along the way. By the time we reached the Manat bridge, my whole body, my face and hair would be brownish-blond because of the cloud of dust that kept trailing from behind.

The bus usually stopped in front of the Catholic Seminary School in Binmaley, the school that my mother wanted for one of her boys to attend because she wanted a priest in her family, but none of my brothers had the calling.

Upon reaching Lingayen, the bus would turn right to a beautiful boulevard, the center of which was planted with blooming Kalachuchi trees making the road grandiose. The end of the road was the Capitol building, so far the tallest and biggest building structure that my innocent and tender age had seen. My dad would go to the registration area and I'd run up the stairs to the building's skyroom where I would look at the sea and all the way to the horizon.

I often wondered what lies beyond the horizon and that question peppered my little mind to which my dad would always answer that the world is round and you'd come back to where you are if you go around. My dad would take me to the beach as soon as he was done with his business and would let me play and wade on the water. I never went beyond his reach for fear the roaring waves would grab my legs. I picked up shells for souvenirs and watched the monotonous waves keep on beating the shore.

Before going back to San Carlos, we'd drop by the city market to buy my favorite coconut pastille ( bocayo), the best in Pangasinan. We'd take the same Pantranco bus and be sudjected to the same rigor of dust and bumpy road and by the time we arrived home, we'd be coated with a thin layer of mud caused by the sweat and dust.